


Listen

by Neyiea



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-08
Updated: 2014-01-08
Packaged: 2018-01-07 22:54:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1125361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neyiea/pseuds/Neyiea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo's always had a good ear for languages, so with a little bit of effort on his part, and a small amount of help from an unlikely source, he begins to learn Khuzdul.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Listen

It is when dusk falls on the first day and they all begin to prepare themselves for the oncoming night that the dwarrows discard Westron and begin speaking amongst themselves in a language Bilbo does not believe he's ever heard. He asks Gandalf about it, and while the wizard is happy to tell him that the dialect is called Khuzdul, he is also quick to inform him that it is a secret language, not taught to outsiders.

He blows out several colourful rings of smoke before winking and murmuring, "But if someone were able to learn it on their own..."

Bilbo allows himself a small smile at that, his mastery of speech is something his mother had always been incredibly proud of. He'd been quick to gain proficiency in Sindarin when she'd gone out of her way to teach him the Elven tongue, and, though Hobbitish was considered a dead language, he'd read over the faded pages of the Yellowskin, the chronicles of the Took family, many times when he was younger, and ended up with a better understanding of it than anyone else in the Shire.

Still, familiarizing yourself with a language when you had a book or two to help you along was no doubt a lot easier than attempting to learn it by ear.

Besides, if it had successfully stayed a secret for so long it probably had very little in common with any other mother-tongue he'd come across. All hard consonants and convoluted sentence structures, with words slurring together so you didn't know when one finished and another began.

No, he decides, he shall not even make an attempt to grasp it.

It only takes him a few days on the road to regret his decision. 

He is sure that the Company does not mean to make him feel so left out, at least most of them do not, but he cannot help but feel like the dwarrows slip into their mother-tongue more and more during the day, until there is hardly any Westron to be overheard. Gandalf will speak to him in Common, as will Bofur, Fíli and Kíli when they're in a mischievous sort of mood, but for the most part everything he hears is completely foreign to him.

There is only so much exclusion he can take.

He begins to listen a little more closely during the day, and the dwarrows do not seem to mind if he sticks a little closer to them than usual and continue speaking amongst each other casually, not at all aware of the way Bilbo strains to understand them. 

It is fitting, he thinks, that the first word he manages to pick out is 'burglar', easy enough to discover, since the term is often accompanied by a subtle head tilt in his direction. It exasperates him, that they call him by this falsified title rather than his name, though he supposes that he'll start living up to it sooner than the dwarrows think. 

He's found a foot-hold now, a single word that he can recognize in a sea of unfamiliar phrases, but that starting point is all he needs.

Bilbo keeps his ears open for every mention of his title, and lets the sound of their voices wash over him.

He picks apart every word in his head, curious and full of wonder, and he stares, perhaps not as subtly as he would like, to see how their lips form the words, how their tongues curl around the sound.

He is soon to discover another title, "Tharkûn", which is how they refer to Gandalf.

Bilbo is pleased at this discovery, even though when he whispers it to Gandalf one night the wizard looks at him with raised brows.

"Why Bilbo, I could have told you my name, if only you had thought to ask."

_Wizards._

Their journey continues, and more often than not Bilbo finds himself drifting towards the Ur family. They are nice, not quite as rough around the edges as some of the others. Bombur can always be persuaded to chat about recipes, and what Bofur lacks in tact he makes up for in kindness, and then there is Bifur who, though he can only communicate via Khuzdul and hand signals, doesn't make Bilbo feel quite as much as an outsider as some of the others do.

It's probably the eye-contact.

They do not carry out long conversations, but when Bifur greets him, or goes out of his way to make a comment (with Bofur there next to him to translate, of course) he always will look Bilbo in the eyes, so that the hobbit is completely sure that he is the one being spoken to.

He doesn't feel so much like a foreigner amongst strangers when Bifur speaks to him, and for that he is incredibly grateful.

And still, the words wash over him.

He singles out the ones he hears most often: "hi" and "izd", "mâ" and "zu". He listens with relish as Balin sighs about a place called "Khazaddûm" or hisses under his breath about "Ugaradzurmthahor", a word which Bilbo cannot even phantom how to mimic. 

He begins to pick up on the more complicated words, the way Thorin is sometimes referred to as "Sigin-tarâg" or how they sometimes look back the way they've come and speak about "Armukhakkar" before their gazes flick over to him.

After the incident with the Trolls, which leaves Bilbo ruffled and distraught, he finds he cannot help but go to Bifur's side and ask in a stalling, stilted way, whether or not he is alright. 

Bifur's eyes go wide and Bilbo worries for a moment that he's messed up completely and said something offensive, but then the dwarf smiles and answers with a gruff yes.

He sticks even closer to Bifur after that, and though Bofur will send curious looks their way he'll leave them be with a bemused smile.

And then, after an unbelievably terrifying chase, they are in Rivendell.

It is just as beautiful as his mother told him, and the sound of Sindarin reminds him so strongly of her that sometimes he finds himself blinking back tears when an Elf goes out of their way to greet him.

It feels good to put his mother's teachings to work, since no one in the Shire but her ever bothered to learn the Elven-tongue. And he is pleased to note that though it has been years since he'd had the chance to speak and be spoken to in the melodic language, he seems to have kept his comprehension.

The Elves seems tickled-pink that he knows how to speak to them, and are quick to offer him smiles and answers to all of his questions.

Meanwhile the dwarrows cut themselves off more than ever, hardly ever slipping into Common for fear of too-keen ears listening in on their conversations.

Bilbo supposes it is good for his studies, for the dwarrows to be so paranoid, but he gets tired of listening to conversations he can only half-understand.

Crossing his arms and huffing is sometimes enough for an apologetic look to be thrown his way and the conversation to switch over, but it is not long before it slips back into their secret language.

The topic doesn't change though, and during their two weeks in Rivendell Bilbo memorizes all he can, as if Belladonna herself will come back from the grave to give an oral test to gauge his understanding.

Bifur watches with a warm smile as Bilbo pays close attention to every discussion, and though he does not directly offer his help, that would be forbidden, after all, sometimes when Bilbo is reciting dialogue to himself and stumbles over a word Bifur will offhandedly correct his pronunciation. 

He is grateful for whatever amount of help Bifur sees fit to give, and finds that when they're alone he cannot help but start tentative, carefully worded conversations. He knows that Bifur understands Common as easily as the others, but he thinks there's something momentous about speaking to the dwarf in his mother-tongue, something that strengthens the warm bond between them.

They'll occasionally share a secretive glance, and Bofur will look between them with keen eyes that make Bilbo feel like a trouble-making tween again.

Bifur, on the other hand, seems to take it all in stride, and will say simple things for Bofur to translate (though Bilbo no longer really needs him to) while Bilbo will respond in Common, their eyes meeting and sparking with ill-hidden laughter at the knowledge that he could respond with uncomplicated phrases in Khuzdul, if he wanted to.

He is sorry to leave Rivendell behind, but a part of him is excited to continue on, not so much for the adventure, but for the learning.

And, he supposes, looking over the group of dwarrows ahead of him, his eyes lingering on Bifur, for the companionship.

The night before they head up the mountain pass they all gather around the fire, still relaxed and rested enough from Rivendell (though they would never admit it) to be in an incredibly good mood. It isn't long before they are sharing tales, in their mother-tongue, of course. Bifur nudges him gently, a sign that he's not alone, and Bilbo closes his eyes and lets himself drift away to the sound of their voices.

He wakes up to a discussion about "Armukhakkar", which is the name the dwarrows have bestowed upon the Shire. Bilbo listens closely to the sound of their voices, their deep rumbling laughs, and is pleased that he can only make out fond words.

His eyes flutter shut again and he is fully intent on drifting back to sleep, but his weariness fades when Bifur goes tense beside him.

His eyes snap open and his ears strain to hear what could have possibly unsettled his friend.

Some of the words spilling from Thorin and Dwalin's mouths are common-place while some are half-familliar, but everything he's been hearing, everything he's managed to learn, snaps into place at the utterance of one word, falling uncaringly from Thorin's lips, not at all given the reverence it deserves.

"Mother."

In half of a second a multitude of information springs up into Bilbo's mind. Dwalin and Thorin's amused looks, the way the King had glanced subtly in his direction, what he had said up to that point-

" _That one's mother,_ "

And then he is in the present again, a frown tugging at his lips even while Bifur puts a hand on his shoulder to calm him.

"I was told she was very adventurous, for a hobbit," Thorin huffs. "Such soft people, all one has to do to be adventurous amongst them is climb a tree."

The others chuckle amongst themselves and Bilbo's hands clench. It is one thing to poke fun at him, but he will not allow this Company to belittle his mother's spirit.

He cannot bear to keep silent. He takes comfort in Bifur's hand, still on his shoulder, and inhales deeply.

"My mother," he begins with assurance, his voice loud and carrying easily across the fire, and the dwarrows around him go absolutely rigid at his voice, "was a daughter of one of the oldest, noblest families in the Shire. She was strong and brave, caring and kind, a friend to men and elves alike. Belladonna Baggins née Took travelled and adventured enough that even you, sir, would be surprised at her exploits. Do not speak about my mother as if you knew her, if you had, you would never dare to say anything against her."

It is only after he stops speaking that he realizes his reprimand had been given in near-flawless Khuzdul.

He realizes that the whole 'secret language' ideal may cause a bit of a shock, but Bifur had gotten over it incredibly fast, so he's more or less expecting everyone else to do the same.

Which is why he is completely unprepared for when the Company surges forward, their bewildered voices, an indistinct mesh of Westron and Khuzdul, rising up like a thunderous litany that he can't make heads nor tails of.

Bifur snorts and crosses his arms, but from the corner of his eye he sends Bilbo an unmistakably proud look.

Bilbo feels fairly proud of himself too, to be honest, but the emotion is overshadowed by his confusion at everyone else's reaction.

Finally one voice raises above the chaos, and everyone else goes silent as soon as Thorin begins to speak.

"How did you come to learn our language?" He asks suspiciously, his cheeks a little redder than the norm, and Bilbo can't help but notice that he's not looking directly at him.

He's embarrassed about getting caught and scolded. If Bilbo had been a more vengeful individual he might have rubbed it in a bit, but as it is he just crosses his arms and leans a bit closer to Bifur.

"I _listened_ , Master Oakenshield," he replies simply, and beside him Bifur coughs into his fist to keep from chuckling.

"You... Listened?" Thorin repeats warily, his eyes flickering between Bilbo and Bifur as if he suspects foul-play.

Bifur raises his hands in a placating gesture. "I don't speak Common, how would I have gone about teaching him?"

"You listened," Thorin whispers, mostly to himself, and he seems unsure of what else to say.

"Well, you all did talk amongst yourselves a lot, and days pass by so slowly when you don't have any way to engage yourself. It's only natural that I started studying."

"But Mister Baggins, this is amazing!" Ori exclaims, and his excitement seems to stir everyone up again.

"How long have you known what we were saying?"

"Why don't you have an accent when you talk?"

"So that's why you and Bifur have been thick as thieves lately?"

"Why did Bifur know and not me? I could have kept it secret!"

Thorin settles them down once again, this time by pointedly clearing his throat.

"It seems that Gandalf was right about there being more to you than meets the eye," he remarks in Common, "and I am sure he was right about your mother as well. Forgive me, it is not my place to pass judgement on those whom I have never met."

Bilbo smiles widely. "Apology accepted."

The night winds down quickly after that, the shock appearing to have taken its toll on everyone. Ori shuffles beside him to cheerfully offer his assistance if the hobbit should ever wish to learn their runic alphabet, Cirth, and Bilbo can't help the surge of happiness at feeling so included.

"I hope you like to learn," Bifur murmurs to him after Ori returns to his brothers.

"As it so happens I love to learn, and I am very much looking forward to actual lessons."

"Good." He manages a smile. "Because once you've got a handle on Cirth I'm teaching you Iglishmêk."

Bilbo, never one to step down from an academic challenge, grins.

"I can hardly wait."


End file.
